~ A Storyteller's Seat

95 – For Hire

He’s nervous. Everything about him practically screams it. He tapped on my door nervously, introduced himself nervously and now he’s sitting there nervously, twisting his wedding ring like he expects to pick up radio on it.

I hate nervous people.

I’ve been standing by my window listening to him yammer on for what seems like ages. I’ve got another appointment at three, so it’s time to hurry him up a little.

“It’s a very discreet service,” I say, crossing the room back to my desk. He’s staring at my legs so instead of sitting on the chair behind it I lean on the desk itself. Hopefully staring at my legs will leave him too distracted to run his mouth. “Very discreet. But expensive.”

I’m watching his reaction. After a few years in the business it’s easy to tell the difference between the ones with the money and the ones who are all mouth. This guy, I see, has got money. His nerves disappear as soon as I mention it and he pulls a fat roll of fifties out of his pocket.

Nearly time to weigh up my options. The pay will be good, but is the job worth the effort?

I hold my hand up to shut him up. I’ve heard enough, I don’t need the whole life story.

“That’ll do for the deposit,” I say, holding my hand out for the cash. “I’ll contact you with proof of completion and give you instructions on paying the rest. Don’t try to contact me again.”

He won’t even have the option. If he comes back tomorrow, this office will be empty.

“How will you do it? Make it look like an accident? A mugging gone wrong?”

They always get eager right about now. “Best you don’t know in advance,” I tell him. “Means you look adequately surprised when you get the news.”

He accepts that easily. I shake his hand and open the door, hustling him out. I’ve got everything I need to deal with the job now. After I’ve finished with my three o’clock, I’ll go call on the girlfriend.

If everything goes to plan, I should be able to take him a picture of his poor dead girlfriend in a day or two, get the rest of the money from him.

What? Oh, come on. I’m not actually going to kill this douchebag’s poor sucker of a mistress. What do you take me for?

You’d be surprised, actually. When a woman finds out her lover wants her dead, she’s generally more than happy to pose for a few faked shots of her unfortunate demise. I split the money with her, we both disappear, and the tapes of these conversations find their way onto a copper’s desk.